In sleep reality is dreams, dreams reality. And Demo knew not
whether he slept, and all was but a dream. Or, whether, waking,
his mind did dream of dreams.
It had started - as had all his recent adventures - with a
summons from Zeus. And when Zeus spoke Demo felt that, perhaps,
he had indulged in too much of Olympic nectar.
"Boy, the world is not what it seems. Look around you. What do
you see?"
The question, of course, was purely rhetorical. Zeus went on
with no hesitation.
"You see Olympus, of course. And, if you had my powers, you
might look down and see earth. Or even let your gaze penetrate
to the nether kingdom of my brother, Pluto. With a little more
effort Tartarus comes in view. And that, think you, is the
universe. Ah, and that is where you err."
Zeus was plainly morose. He had a problem that bothered him.
And rather than attacking the problem head-on, he was talking
his way around it.
"Ah, indeed, Sire! Just the other day I was telling my mother .
. . ."
"Yes, yes, but what I mean is, there is also the unseen. The
world in transition. It was, and now is not. Yet, in a strange
sort of way, it is. Understand? (More rhetorical questions.) It
will be, eventually; it hasn't become, yet. It's a world in . .
. well, it's a world in transition. And during the transition,
it isn't. Hmmm, very simple, actually. Must make a note of that,
- A world in transition - should go over well at the club."
He reached above his head, unrolled a long papyrus, and jotted
a few notes on the bottom. As he let go the papyrus rewound,
disappearing when the last page was snugly wrapped. Zeus smiled,
took a slight bow, and tossed his pen into the air. It, too,
disappeared. But, not, unfortunately, before several drops of
ink splattered the divine face. With a growl Zeus reached up and
a white towel appeared. He started to wipe away the ink.
"Drop that! Not with my clean towel!"
Hera rushed into the room, seized the towel, handing Zeus
instead a well-used one. With a sigh he wiped away the ink,
dropped the towel into the waste disposer. The waste disposer
growled, wagged its tail, and devoured the towel with a single
gulp.
"Anyway, that's where you need to go. It's the one region
outside of my domain. I just don't have any power there, because
it really doesn't exist, you understand. Well, it exists, kind
of, to be scientifically precise."
Zeus prided himself on his scientific knowledge.
"And, Sire, what is the purpose of my visit."
"That, my boy, is a good question. Let us see if we can
fabricate a good answer." He paused, walked back and forth
twice, did a hop and a skip and a slight curtsy.
"I don't know! You will have to define your mission yourself.
You see, this transition world, this shadow land - that's it,
that's what I wanted to say. Shadow land! It is that. That is
where you are to go. And what are you to do? Improvise!
Improvise, my lad!"
"Yes sir, but to what end?"
"That tomorrow may come."
"That tomorrow may come?"
"Great! You've got it! Farewell, and a safe journey!"
Transitions? Shadow land? So that tomorrow will come? Has Zeus
reached his dotage! Demo would ask more, except that he found
himself suddenly alone. Alone, but where? Surely this was not
his own world.
The gray fog swirled, settled, then swirled again. Dimly
objects could be seen. And movement. They were there, or so it
seemed. Yet, what objects? And what moved?
Silence accompanied the fog. Or, perhaps, preceded it.
Regardless, the only sound was his own breathing.
A light was approaching. Small, at first almost non-existent,
it loomed larger, though no brighter. A silhouette, vague and
distorted, carried the lantern. At times both disappeared as the
fog thickened.
The approach stopped. Plainly they sensed his presence. The
lantern was held higher, and he could catch glimpses of a
woman's face. There was anxiety in her eyes, even fear, as she
gazed at him.
"Sir, whence cometh thou? Thee be not of our world. Flee to thy
home, for he walks the moors this night!"
"I . . . I am sent by Zeus. You say one walks this night? Who
walks the moors this night? And why should I fear?"
"None is safe alone in the dark. If you have not where to go
then come with me. Quickly, quickly!"
He followed her down dark alleys, twisting streets. The earth
was wet, and muddy water flowed in rivulets crisscrossing their
way. Varied smells, of vegetables, of cooked meats, and of
decay, tinted the air. At times lights were visible through
small barred windows along their way.
The fog became ever more intense. She held his hand that he not
go astray. Her hand was small and cold. He enwrapped it in his
own to give it warmth. She smiled at his concern.
They passed a pond where floated debris, bodies of dogs and
cats, and perhaps objects of more unsavory character. As they
reached the far edge of the pond she turned to the right,
slipped and shuffled down a mucky side street.
She slid the door open and motioned him to remove his footwear.
When they stepped inside she took a soiled towel from its rack,
wiped his feet and her own.
The room was small. A straw mat covered the floor, and cheap
cotton tapestry decorated the walls. A small barred window
looked out from the back wall. A mat unrolled on the floor
beneath the window served for sleeping.
She closed the door, dropped a strong wooden bar in place to
block it from opening. "He will not enter. Still may the Powers
help whomever he meets on these dark streets. You are fortunate
I took you in. Others might have taken you for a changeling, and
left you to your own devices. Many a young maid has lost her
life by mating with handsome changelings!"
"You are most kind. No, no changeling I. My name is Demo, and I
am here on a mission. When it is done I must once more depart."
She seemed little interested in his mission, regarded his face
and figure with marked curiosity.
"Thy clothes are not as ours. Thy skin is dark from rays of
sun, and here there is no sun. And thee speaketh strangely, with
words and accent unknown in this land." She stopped, a bemused
look on her face.
"What call you this land and its people? What is your name?"
She smiled at his questions.
"This is the world of Brume, and we are named Brumians. As for
me, you may call me Mist. It is only a title, not my name. Our
names we hold sacred, and to give them to others invites dire
consequences. Yes, to Mist I shall answer."
"Well, I suppose I should likewise be as reticent. Anyway, my
name is . . ."
Quickly she put her hand to his lips. "Speak it not again! You
are a stranger, a sojourner in a strange land, and its customs
are not of your world. You need not believe in our customs, but
do not needlessly court danger. I shall name you."
She walked around him, a smile touching her lips. "Thou art
tall, youthful, strong. Thou traveleth from far lands to our
world. I name thee Wanderer."
She opened the back window and the white vapors of fog crept
in. Sliding a small door to the side she removed a pot and some
utensils. Toward the center of the room she removed a block of
floormat, revealing a pit in which firewood lay.
Soon the room was warmed, and the aroma of a thick soup
tantalized his nostrils. Gladly did he eat, little noticing that
only spoonsful remained for her. "Ah, you cook like my own
mother! What meat is this?"
"Do not concern yourself. It is nourishing, and harmless to
you. It is the night season, and you may share my pad. Though
you may think me forward, ask nought of me, for I am pledged.
Only my company can I grant thee."
He slept. The fire died, the fog shrouded the room.
Of early morning he woke to find her fast asleep beside him. He
reached out to tuck the blanket around her shoulders.
His eyes widened. Taking a deep breath he drew back his hand in
consternation and sudden dread.
The shoulder was without substance. His hand felt cold and
clammy air, nought else, passed through to touch the mat beneath.
She woke, looked at him with sad and pensive eyes. "Doth thee
understand. Thou are not as we. We are but shadows, and thou art
real. Waking, we can have semblance of reality. Sleeping, it
fades. But touch me once more, for now I am."
Reluctantly he reached out for the hand she extended. Though
cold, it was solid now as his own.
The sadness on her face disturbed him. Quietly he squeezed her
hand, smiled. "There is much I don't understand. You have been
kind to me. Still, I have a mission, and it must be done. I . .
. "
The rattling of the door interrupted him. It started suddenly,
grew in intensity. Mist moved to the far corner, dread on her
face.
Demo frowned, took up his bow and notched an arrow. Slowly he
drew the bow, waited.
The door held. In moments the rattling ceased. From without
they heard a growl, followed then only by silence.
"Stay. Don't go out. He walks the street this night." Mist held
his arm, eyes wide.
"Who is he? Why should I fear?"
"He is like you. He also comes from elsewhere. Yet, he is not
like you. For you are kind. He destroys all he meets. And he is
real, not shadow. When he came our world stopped. No longer do
we move from the unreal to the real. We linger here in this
shadow world, with no yesterday and no tomorrow."
He looked at her, startled. "No tomorrow? Strange! He said
something very much like that - that tomorrow may come. Strange!"
"I cannot stay here, for I have my job to do. When I leave,
close and bolt the door quickly. I pray we shall meet again.
Time passes, and now I must do that for which I came. Peace!"
Then he opened the door, swiftly stepped out into the fog. He
glanced up and down the alley, as far as he could see. Only fog.
A sound behind him caught his attention.
Turning swiftly, he found Mist closing the door, stepping to
his side. "You shall not go alone!"
Arguments came to his mind. He was silent, for he realized she
would not listen. "Stay close behind me. I search for him, the
one from elsewhere. I know not why, but I feel that my mission
is with him."
"You need not search. He will surely find us."
Demo moved down the street, ever watchful. Silence held sway,
and the fog clung to them like wet cloth. At times lights could
be seen, rapidly disappearing as the drear dawn came. Dawn
brought little change. The fog still enmeshed a silent world, a
world seemingly populated by Mist and himself.
The chill he felt came not from the fog. A coldness along his
spine, a prickling on the back of his neck, forewarned him.
Something there was, something evil and fearsome, close at hand!
"No!" Mist cried as she ran forward toward an object barely
visible. Demo reached out to stop her. His hand touched only
cold fog, and she was gone.
He followed her quickly, then stopped. The scream of utter
terror rose, ceased quickly. All was silent. For a moment he
closed his eyes. He knew full well he would see her no more.
Mist. A strange name. And yet a kind and gentle person. Now
gone. To fight the unseen companion to protect himself had been
his goal. No longer. Anger enveloped him. Mist was dead. The
Demon must die!
Demo gazed from side to side, trying to penetrate the white
barrier before his eyes. To no avail. Then, glancing down, he
noted footprints. Footprints not made by man!
Slowly, his eyes on the ground ahead of him, he followed the
trail. Where Mist had trodden he could not tell. She left no
trace of her passage.
Looming huge in the fog and early morning gloom, ahead an
object stood in his path. This was the creature she feared. The
one that surely had destroyed her!
It was coming slowly closer. Plainly it recognized his
presence. Smoothly he strung his bow, notched an arrow.
Demo waited quietly.
A shudder enveloped his body, and his eyes widened.
He knew this one. An aura emitted from it, one that was not new
to him.
Surely, this was the unseen companion!
Without hesitation he released his arrow.
The laughter that came from out the fog held little humor.
"Your puny weapons are merely playthings. I would end you now,
if it were not that the fates have written, and it is by the
tarn you shall meet your destiny. If you survive this world, or
non-world! I leave you now, earthling. Find your way back to
Olympus and Zeus. If you can!"
The unearthly laughter sounded once more, then faded, as did
the figure half displayed in the swirling fog.
In his ears was but silence, and his eyes saw only the swirling
fog.
'That tomorrow may come.' The words repeated themselves in his
brain. What had Zeus intended? Was the unseen companion the evil
influence dominating this strange world? Or were there other,
still hidden, culprits. "Zeus, you have indeed given me a
strange chore. I know not where to turn! If only I could lift
this fog!"
He wandered through the streets. Glancing at a pond in passing
he recognized it. He knew that he had merely retraced his
steps, neared Mist's dwelling. With a sigh he found the door,
entered.
He sat quietly on the mat, fell asleep.
Dreams, interrupted by moments of awareness, disturbed his
rest. Dreams of Mist, of the unseen companion, finally of
Athena. She spoke strange words to him, words couched in
riddles. "Prometheus knew the answer. As did your unseen
companion. Quickly, before the fire die."
He woke, sweat streaming from his body. From the center of the
room a wisp of smoke rose from the dying fire. 'Before the fire
die?' Strange words. 'Prometheus knew, the unseen companion
knew?' What did they know?
Wide-eyed, he looked at the fading fire. Suddenly he reached
down, pulled a fiery brand from center, and tossed it at the
wall. In moments the building was burning.
He rushed out of the building. The conflagration spread
rapidly, and the once empty, fog-shrouded streets were filled
with dim forms rushing helter-skelter to and fro.
Even as the flames spread the fog began to dissipate. An early
morning sun could be seen shining on the horizon. Where strange
shadows had moved along the streets now people were to be seen.
Smiles replaced looks of dreary misery. Indeed Prometheus had
known!
Still, there remained much to do. 'That tomorrow may come?'
What action must be taken 'that tomorrow may come'? The fog was
indeed gone. Only a burned out city remained. No tomorrow, this!
What else had Athena whispered to him while he slept. Something
very important. Nothing came to mind. He moved westward, drawn
by an unknown force. The answer was to be found beyond the
western horizon. If there were an answer.
The mountains loomed large to the west. He began that westward
trek, barely reached the foothills before the sun began to sink
behind the jagged peaks. Looking for a place to sleep safely, he
noted an opening, the mouth of a cave.
He entered cautiously.
"There is no cause for fear. Welcome. I've awaited your coming."
An old man spoke the words softly, calmly. His countenance
belied the words.
Clad in the armor of a warrior, with face stern, marked by
steel and fire, the old man projected a sense of authority.
Demo stepped forward slowly.
"Sire, I know you not. Yet you have awaited me?"
"One who has traveled far with you forecast your arrival. In
due time you shall know him. Much will be revealed - by the
tarn. But that another day, another world."
The unseen companion! He had been here, spoken to this one.
What strange fate forever brought their paths together? And what
was the secret of the tarn?
Demo shook his head.
"I rule this domain, ignored by the Gods, unknownst to mankind.
This is the field of atonement. All pass through here. Some
quickly. Some remain long. For a moment you have lifted the
mists. Nevertheless, they shall return. I have halted all
transitions until your coming. The souls who depart your world
and pass through here would press on. And so shall they, in due
time."
"What would you have of me, Sire?"
The warrior stood, pulled from its sheath a sword. "Vulcan did
temper this sword with blood. And each who leaves your world
must first feel this edge. It has proven strong and sharp.
Still, time and usage take their toil, and it is now it is only
a blunt instrument, useless for its purpose."
"Sire, I am no swordsmith."
The warrior held the blade in hand, extended the handle toward
Demo. "Take it. Return it to Zeus. Tell him one whose name
remains forever unspoken would have the broken sword of Cadmus.
Let Vulcan fashion it and put thereon an edge that will not
fail. 'Til you return, Clothos shall spin no more, nor Lachesis
measure, nor Atropos wield her shears. And none shall pass
through these portals to tomorrow."
The warrior held the blade high, brought it down flat against
his knee, and the metal snapped. He handed the broken weapon to
Demo. "The gate is there."
He pointed to the darker recesses of the cave. "Quickly, now,
to Olympus. I wait impatiently."
Zeus listened in quiet amazement, the broken sword in his hand.
In anger he tossed it down and it faded into oblivion. "You
shall meet with it by the tarn, in good time. It is not given to
me to know of this shadow land. Of its existence only am I
informed. The Ancient Ones - they knew! Strangely, they told me
nothing! Must even the Gods pass through those portals? I know
not. Here, take it. The sword of Cadmus. It, too, was broken.
Well, Vulcan has applied his skills. This edge shall never dull."
The warrior examined the sword with critical eye. "The
craftsmanship of Vulcan leaves little to be desired. I see the
break in the blade. It matters not. There is no weakness now.
You have done well."
His visage reflected an expression that might be construed as a
smile. "My broken sword lies by the tarn. It may well be of
service, at the appointed time. Now, on your way. For I must
return to my dreadful chore."
Zeus was morose. "It is a drear vision you bring to me. Still,
let us live for today. If it were hidden from the Gods, then it
concerns them not. Return to your own, my boy. The flowers
bloom, soft winds blow, and spring creeps upon the land. And, I
assure you, there will be no fog!"